


Nothing to gain

by Ferrera



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Baby Boy, Dirty Talk, Hints of D/s dynamics, M/M, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex, Watersports, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 04:28:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12975918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrera/pseuds/Ferrera
Summary: In which Sam thinks he can only lose.





	Nothing to gain

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, what a crap summary, I might come up with something better in the next couple of days.
> 
> Anyway, I'm working on a bigger piece which I just can't seem to finish, and I really wanted to write some piss kink stuff, but it wouldn't really fit in there, not the way I wanted to write it, at least. So here we are, enjoy.  
>  
> 
> Ages unspecified, but Sam's in high school.

  
  
Dean’s laid out on the fake-leather couch in some shitty motel room, watching an even shittier program about classic cars, taking up the whole goddamn couch while Sam sits at the far end with Dean's calves crossed over his thighs. Not that Sam minds. He’s trailing his fingers along the seams of Dean's jeans, watching his brother instead of the tv, eyes drifting from his pretty face to where the fabric of his flannel stretches around his broad shoulders, down to his flat stomach, to his jeans clinging just below his hipbones, finally coming to a rest on his crotch.   
  
  
Sam trails his fingers up to Dean’s knees, then back down his shins, occasionally pressing against the seams. Dean's eyes are glued to the tv, but Sam can tell his little touches don’t go unnoticed. His fingers itch at the sight of Dean’s dick chubbing up in his jeans. Sam slides them to the insides of Deans knees, then up higher, along the seams, rubbing over his inner thighs.  
  
  
“Sammy,” Dean grunts, giving him a warning look. Sam’s too preoccupied watching Dean adjust himself in his jeans to roll his eyes at him. It makes arousal pool low in his stomach just as much as it makes him aware of his full bladder. _Hurry the fuck up, Dad._  
  
  
Sam swallows hard and tears his eyes away from the sight, willing both feelings to go away. He trails his fingers back down Dean’s legs again, watches his own slender fingers tracing over Dean’s firm calves.  
  
  
Sam stills his hands as their dad emerges from the bathroom, but he barely gives them a look anyway, just grabs his jacket and keys as he tells them he's off for a drink, tells Dean not to wait up for him.  
  
  
Sam’s about to get up, use the bathroom now that it’s free, but as soon as John's shut the door, Dean sits up and reaches for Sam.  
  
  
“You little tease,” he grits out as he wraps his hands around Sam's waist, tugging him into his lap. Sam winches a little as Dean squeezes at his sides.  
  
  
“What?” Dean smirks, one eyebrow cocked, “you still got bruises there?”  
  
  
Sam shakes his head, even though he could still see the shape of Dean's fingers when he got dressed in the morning.  
  
  
“Need to pee, Dean, just gimme a sec—” He tries to get up, straining against Dean's grip, but Dean's face breaks into a wide grin and he only wraps his arms tighter around Sam's waist, keeping him firmly seated into his lap.  
  
  
“Nah, don’t think so, Sammy,” he smirks as he bucks his hips up, the swell of his bulge pressing against Sam's ass. “Been teasin’ me enough, think it's your turn to wait a little.”  
  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” Sam breaths, fingers digging into his brother’s shoulders, thighs straining with the effort as he tries to get up again, but Dean keeps him down with ease.  
  
  
“Need to go that bad?” Dean grins, bucking his hips up a little again, and Sam can only nod, closing his eyes and biting his lips as he holds it, trying to ignore the press of Dean's body against his. He would've gone half an hour ago, if Dad hadn't been in the bathroom. He'd already needed to go bad _before_  their dad had locked himself in there to shower and shave.

  
“Think you can wait a little longer for me, Sammy?” Dean murmurs. He grips Sam's hips and pulls him forward, urging him to rub his ass against the swell of his dick.  
  
  
“Dean, I swear to God I'm gonna piss my pants if you don't let me go,” Sam hisses, squirming in Dean’s lap, trying to wriggle free from his hold without pissing himself.  
  
  
“Yeah?” Dean murmurs, and Sam doesn't miss the way his breathing's speeding up, the way his voice goes all low and gravelly. “I think you can hold it a little longer, Sammy.” Sam goes still, breath hitching in his throat, and Dean keeps him down with one hand, splays the other over his belly where Sam swears he must be able to feel his full bladder pressing against his palm.  
  
  
“Think you can do that for me, Sammy?”  
  
  
Dean presses down against his belly, and Sam feels dizzy with how bad he needs to go, cheeks heating up as he feels himself leaking the tiniest drop. He can’t squeeze his thighs together with Dean in between, tries to clamp down on Dean’s thighs to keep himself from leaking instead.  
  
  
Sam _hates_ to back down from a challenge, but the fear of not being able to hold it, of wetting his goddamn pants like a child is a thousand times worse.  
  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” he says as a warning, but his voice wavers, sounding nowhere near as threatening as he’d like.  
  
  
“No?” Dean smirks, “afraid that you're gonna piss yourself, baby boy?”  
  
  
Dean hadn't called him that since he started in high school, and it has him blushing just as much as the thought of wetting his pants. He feels his cheeks glowing red-hot just like everything inside him, his bladder feeling so hot and full, aching so bad.  
  
  
“Let me go, Dean,” he whimpers, clenching his insides, fingers clutching at Dean’s shoulders as he tries to hold it.  
  
  
“I'll let you _go_ , then, if that’s what you want,” Dean murmurs, pressing his palm against his belly again. “C'mon, Sammy, if you need to go so badly, why don't you just, huh?”  
  
  
Dean makes it sound like an offering, but it's another challenge, one in which there’s nothing for Sam to gain.  
  
  
Dean fucking thrives on testing his limits, _stretching_ them, pushing Sam as far as Sam’ll let him. He's challenged Sam to suck him off in a public restroom, made Sam wear lacy panties under his jeans to school, discovered how many bruises he could give Sam before Sam would tell him to stop.  
  
  
“Please, Dean, I really need to go,” Sam whimpers, sounding close to tears. He _feels_ close to tears, bladder aching so bad, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding it. He can either tell Dean to fuck right off already and let him go to the bathroom, or wet his goddamn pants like a child, doing what Dean asked him to but embarrassing himself beyond belief – either way, he’ll lose.  
  
  
“What's holding you back, then, Sammy? Why don't you just let go?  
  
  
Sam can't even talk, just shakes his head furiously. He's _that_ close to either telling Dean to fuck off or piss himself, but his bladder is so full, aching and stinging so bad he can’t think straight, can’t decide which would be worse.  
  
  
“Don’t have to hold back for me, Sammy,” Dean murmurs as he pulls him closer and kisses his neck.  
  
  
Dean _wants_ to see him break, goddamnit.  
  
  
Dean loosens his arms around Sam’s hips, settles his hands on Sam’s waist, slowly rubbing his thumbs over the slight swell of his belly, and Sam could just get up and run for the bathroom, but he doesn't even have to make that choice – he just can't hold it any longer. Nausea washes over him the moment he feels it all starting to leak out, and once he's going he can't stop himself. The warm, steady stream of piss soaks his underwear, his pants, making his face glow red-hot with shame.  
  
  
“Shit, Sammy,” Dean breathes, hands tight around his hips as Sam keeps going, “didn't think you would, baby boy.” He rocks his hips up against Sam, and that's when Sam realizes he's not only leaking through his own clothes, but wetting Dean as well, and another wave of nausea and shame washes over him, tears welling up in his eyes. He hides his face in the crook of Dean's neck, can't watch himself soaking his pants, soaking _Dean’s_ goddamn pants.  
  
  
Dean had wanted to see him piss himself, not to fucking soak his brother’s jeans as well, goddamnit, and he’d wanted Sam to _give in_ , Sam’s sure, not for Sam to be too weak to hold it any longer. Tears of embarrassment and failure roll down his cheeks until they’re absorbed by Dean’s t-shirt, but the fabric covering their crotches is pretty much saturated with his piss and he’s probably leaving stains on the goddamn couch as well.  
  
  
“I’m sorry,” he mutters against Dean's skin when he's finally done, “Dean, I’m so sorry, I didn't want to, wanted to be good for you, but I just couldn't—” he stutters, the words muffled against Dean's hot skin.  
  
  
“Sammy,” Dean shushes, “hey, Sammy, don’t cry.” He’s rubbing Sam’s back as he holds Sam tight with one strong arm, keeping Sam in his piss-soaked lap. “It’s okay,” he murmurs in Sam’s ear, “there’s nothin’ to be sorry about, Sammy.” Dean cups his face in his hands, looking him in the eyes, and it takes everything Sam has not to look away.  
  
  
“It's okay,” Dean says again, rubbing his thumbs along Sam’s cheekbones to brush his tears away. “I wanted you to, didn’t I, Sammy?” he asks, and Sam thinks he can see the slightest hint of self-consciousness in his eyes. “Fuck, I wanted you to,” Dean says again, looking away, rubbing a hand over his face. “Got me so goddamn hard, seeing you piss yourself, feeling it soaking through my jeans.”  
  
  
It's such an honest admission from Dean that it calms him a little, makes his heart feel a little lighter. Dean pulls him in again and kisses him on his open mouth.  
  
  
“God, Sammy,” he murmurs against Sam’s parted lips, “made me so fucking hot, jesus.”  
  
  
Sam feels it, feels the swell of his dick pressing firmly against his ass through all the wet layers of clothing. Sam sits back a little, trying to ignore the feeling of his drenched clothes clinging to his skin, and presses a tentative hand to Dean’s crotch, fingers rubbing over his rock-hard dick through the soaked fabric of his jeans. Dean groans, his breathing speeding up as Sam works his belt open, undoes the button of his jeans and pulls the zipper down. His chest is rising and falling quickly as Sam pulls his slightly-damp boxers down and wraps a hand around his leaking dick. Sam strokes him a couple of times, thinks about spitting in his hand to make it a little slicker, but then Dean throws his head back and he’s already coming, spilling all over Sam’s fist and their soaked clothes.  
  
  
“Fuck,” Dean groans when he’s caught his breath a little, “now _that’s_ embarrassing.” He says it self-mockingly, but the grin he shows Sam is not his usual, confident smirk – rather a little awkward, a little shy and unsure.  
  
  
Maybe Sam’s won, after all.  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is the first time I've written watersports, don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
